“And you, you spiteful creature,” turning to Tertschka, “it seems to me you are too warm a friend of that cripple there? Just wait, I will cure you! If I see you together again, he shall be discharged and you shall not see daylight for many a day.” So they were separated, rudely and suddenly. After that George was made to work on the tracks, and when he and Tertschka met in the house at noon or at sundown, they did not dare even to look at each other, far less exchange words. For the foreman observed them closely, and the others, too, seemed to take a kind of malicious pleasure in watching them. One evening--it was a Saturday--the foreman and some of his companions had gone to an inn in one of the villages not far away; the other men had settled down to a game of cards, as usual, after receiving their weekly wages. As the noise and excitement grew louder and boisterous, George took courage to approach Tertschka, who was sitting on an old wooden box in her accustomed corner, her face buried in her hands. “Tertschka,” he said softly, taking a small, leather bag from his pocket, “here is the rest of the money that I owe you.” And he put some kreutzers[4] into her lap. “Oh, never mind,” she answered; “you had better keep it, you may need it.” “What for?” he asked, disappointed. “All pleasure is gone for me since I can not work with you any more.” “Yes, I feel the same,” she answered. After a while he began again: “I wonder why he separated us? It must be a matter of utter indifference to him whether we sit together or not, as long as we do our work well.” She was silent. At last she said: “He is a bad man, and can not bear to see any one else having a good time. He never allows one to go to church, yet he knows I can pray only when I am kneeling before the altar. How often he has scolded my mother because she wouldn’t for anything miss going to church on Sunday, and always took me with her; _he_, indeed, knows no God or religion. But to-morrow I shall go to Schottwien, no matter what he says or does; I don’t wish to become quite heathen among all these drunkards and gamblers.” She arose, opened the box on which she had been sitting, took out a woolen jacket, a calico skirt, and a pair of heavy shoes; also a faded, red kerchief and an old rosary with a cross of brass on it. All these things she laid carefully over the contents of the box, and closed the cover again. George watched her. “I, too, have not been to church for a long time,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be fine if I could go with you to-morrow?” “Yes, but it’s impossible.” “Well, I don’t know about that,” he answered. “The foreman need not know of it. We might leave here, each alone on a different road, and then meet down in the valley.”